


Poured Hearts and Spilled Drinks

by magicath004



Category: Be More Chill - Iconis/Tracz, Be More Chill - Iconis/Tracz (Two River Cast) Actor RPF, Be More Chill - Ned Vizinni
Genre: Bar (Setting), Bittersweet Ending, College AU, Emotional Hurt, M/M, Not fluff but not angst either, Partying, Underage Drinking, between rich and dustin ngl, breakup tw, cursing, don't condone but it happens, drug metion, fake id mention, fighting mention, platonic emotional healing, talking after a breakup
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-09
Updated: 2019-07-09
Packaged: 2020-06-25 06:59:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19740583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magicath004/pseuds/magicath004
Summary: “He’s right, you know,” Michael said, pulling Rich out of his tightening spiral of thoughts.“What?” Rich asked, mentally cursing himself for responding after being so definitive against it.“Dustin. For once, he’s right. We should talk.”Rich and Micheal were the dream couple: always joking, always laughing, always together. Until they weren't. When they run back into each other at a bar in their college town, they talk over heartbreak, faults, and what their future might look like now. The bittersweet conversation may not go as planned, but then again, nothing really does.Glad to be a part of the #BMC reverse bang 2019! Story inspired by art made by @jeanteros on Tumblr. Please go check out the original comic!





	Poured Hearts and Spilled Drinks

The breakup was too new, too heartbreakingly raw, for Rich to really know what to do. If the situation itself didn’t make his throat close up around an invisible lump, his unknowing response definitely did. He would be the last person to call himself a meticulous planner, but he prided himself on consistently having a rough idea of where he wanted his life to go. The younger version of himself always had a cheerful answer to the typical “What do you want to be when you grow up?” question, squeaking out “Stuntman!” between a gap-toothed grin and without a second thought. This particular plan fluctuated over the years, but the certainty in his decisions remained a constant. Once he made his way to high school, these goals shifted further away from career paths and eventually drifted to  _ who _ he wanted to remain constant in his life. And, since the end of junior year, he was sure of his decision.

Michael.

The bespectacled teen who was the first to visit him in the hospital and the first guy Rich allowed himself to take interest in, sin the influence of the SQUIP. Michael was the first of anyone that Rich allowed himself to be captivated by and the first person in the world he desperately wanted to remain in his plans for a long, long time. It took until the beginning of his senior year to act upon this hastily scribbled mess of emotions, but his famous dedication wouldn’t let him off the hook until he either got the guy or got flat out rejected. 

Thus, the combination of elation and surprise at Micheal’s reaction being the former was more confusing still. 

And, for that last year and even a few after that, everything was falling in line with Rich’s plans. The two of them made a strangely dynamic couple: the outwardly confident jock who balanced his fierce masculinity and nerdy kindness attached at the hip with the proudly outcasted king of all dorks. 

As their mutual friend, Christine, pointed out, they were pretty frickin’ cute. She had said on more than one occasion that they were the epitome of an “Imagine your OTP” prompt, and neither of the boys could debate the claim. The couple who’s Instagrams were packed with both artsy filtered selfies and memes happened to be the same couple who went to prom in matching suits. They had both shown up to the event high on cheap pot, but the image remained unfazed. They were the guys who showed up to lunch a half hour late with a 7/11 bag filled with snacks slung over their shoulders and arms snaked across the waist of the other. And, a few months prior, the duo had received matching acceptance letters from Eastview University, a mere two hours from their high school. It was one of the schools in Rich’s plan, and the only one both of them had applied to. And so, driven by that same relentless consistency to his plan and emotions tied the only person on it, they departed together. If the decision was on a whim of teenage romance, divine intervention, or a carefully constructed roadmap of the future is unknown. 

The dorm the shared on the edge of campus was tiny and cheap, but it was still filled with sweet kisses, quiet evenings of Mario Kart and inside jokes. The ever-present lingering smell of smoke couldn’t be forgotten, nor could the piles of laundry stacked precariously on each open surface, but the space still managed to feel homey and distinctly  _ theirs. _ Although Rich would never admit it, the nearly claustrophobic apartment was his favorite place in the world. When they had moved in, their sides had been clearly divided both by style (Michael’s showing off family photos and sentimental knick-knacks while Rich was more haphazard and impersonal) and by the halves they claimed during orientation. By the end of the first semester, after gaining a sagging corduroy couch and a partially broken mini-fridge from a yard sale, the halves were eradicated and used only to determine which phone charger belonged to which boy. 

The erasure of these divisions made it that much more difficult when Michael shoved all of his small possessions into a backpack one night, one god-awful night, before fuming out the door with squeaky hinges and not coming back to pick up the rest. 

The night in question was a warm one, edging towards the end of the year that had each student scrambling under the weight of looming finals and desperation to find summer internships. Rich was trying not to let the nerves get to him, knowing that he had an internship with a law firm in his hometown, but Michael was not hiding his stress very well. He came back to the dorm later than usual, the nightly reminder on Rich’s phone to get some sleep having gone off nearly an hour before. Michael kicked off his shoes and dropped his patch-covered backpack in a heap, disregarding his normal cautiousness with the computer that he kept tucked in the bag. He flopped face-first on the nearest bed, which happened to be the one that Rich was already lounging on, even though it was the one with Michael’s sheets pulled taught over the corners. 

“Hey, babe,” Rich muttered, rubbing the sleep from his eyes that he would later deny was there in the first place. Michael just murmured absentmindedly in response, shifting so that his head rested on his roommate's thigh. “What were you doing out so late, dude?” It wasn’t that staying out till morning wasn’t common, because it occurred almost every Friday, but those excursions were usually made as a pair. If there was a party or 75-percent-off shots at the bar down the street, they would show up as a couple, mingle, get hammered, and probably end up sloppily making out in an empty bedroom or supply closet. The strangeness that night originated from it being mere days before exams, a weeknight, and that Michael had come home inconceivably  _ tired _ rather than drunk.

“Working on that game in the library. You know, the platform one Professor Hidgens wants by next week?” Rich knew the game, considering how many times Michael had made it the subject of an animated conversation, filled with programming and computer terms that he wished he could understand just to share an ounce of his boyfriend’s enthusiasm. The amount of effort he put into each of his projects was extraordinary, his work time stretching into odd hours, but…. 

“I thought the library was closed because they found mold in the floors,” Rich said, the hand he had been carding through Michael’s hair stopping its motion for an instant. Michael didn’t respond. “Where were you, Mikey?”

“Can’t I just have  _ one night out _ without you getting clingy?” Michael exclaimed, sitting bolt upright with his back to Rich. His voice was sharp, edged with a new steel that Rich wasn’t fond of. He tugged the hood of his familiar sweatshirt to hide his head, the same battered red one Rich had stolen for the aesthetic on so many occasions. He sighed, still not meeting the gaze of the other. “I went out to meet someone, R. Got a slushie with a guy from Graphic Design. Even though I barely knew him, it was... different. Different from this,” he finished, gesturing between them with his index finger. 

“What?”

“Rich, dude, I... I know this isn’t what you want to hear, but we need to talk.” 

Rich’s brain was desperately trying to shroud the rest of that night in long term memory, only to be retrieved when he needed a pint of ice cream and a good cry, but some wisps of the event still floated around in a devastating spiral. Michael had seemed like he was trying to hold together a civil front, but it quickly fell victim to defensive claims that Rich put forward. This was in an effort to both protect himself and deny what was unfolding, but the already firm look that Michael was sporting hardened instead. It only elevated from there. Rich just knew that he started crying based on how his already lacking memories went blurry once Michael grabbed his backpack and slid his shoes back on. The message was still clear, however: there was someone else and Michael was done. Considering what was traded during the verbal match, the feelings that he was clinging to and building his future upon weren’t as mutual as Rich once believed. 

Days later and still pacing a dorm filled with reminders of what was, the breakup was too new, too heartbreakingly raw, for Rich to really know what to do. It wasn’t a familiar feeling, but none of his most recent ones were. The new, annoying feelings who decided that moping around and ignoring texts from Christine were courses of action. He knew they weren’t, in the part of his brain that was still behaving logically, but that voice didn’t seem to have much control over his new routines and gloomy disposition. In a last effort to ignore this piece of his head and drown out his feelings in the same blow, Rich found his feet carrying out of his building for the first time in a while. They carried him down the familiar sidewalks of his college town in the same hoodie Rich had been sporting and a pair of jeans that were clearly dirty, but he disregarded the fact. He ignored it all: the too-cheerful sunset, the kids mingling in storefronts, the building which housed the classes that he had neglected to attend…

_ I’ll go tomorrow, _ he reassured himself, knowing full well he wouldn’t. 

Bouncing the idea around before discarding it completely, Rich felt his feet cross the threshold of the smallest bar in town. It was a pitiful thought, that the first place he went to was a way to forget everything again, but all of his thoughts were pretty pitiful at this point. The place felt like a storage unit that someone had put some uncomfortable stools and scuffed hardwood floors into. No matter the size, it was cheap with shitty food, never too crowded, and pretty lenient about checking fakes. Rich liked it. Michael had liked it too, but Rich pretended he didn’t know this. Squeezing his way to the back of the place, which was appropriately named the “Tiniest Taproom”, Rich pulled out his wallet. Settling in on one of the stools facing the bar, which felt as though it was hastily put together out of an Ikea box, he examined his fake ID. He had gotten if from a guy that Michael knew back in New Jersey who charged way too much for the flimsy sheet of plastic, but it got the job done even with the peeling corners. According to it, he was twenty-two and a Wisconsin native. The idea of being stuck somewhere that was even more boring than New Jersey always used to put a joking scowl on his face, but today the thought just made him more ansty. He tucked it back in his wallet as the bartender sauntered out of whatever storage room was hidden behind the nearby set of dinged-up metal doors. 

The guy couldn’t have been much older than the age listed on the Wisconsin card, judging by the excitable glint in his eyes and the baseball cap perched backward on his pile of black curls. “Rich _ ard _ !” he exclaimed, adjusting the nameplate pinned jauntily to his flannel. This blue-and-yellow plaid abomination was worn over top of a graphic tee displaying the words “Okey Dokey!” written in dramatic calligraphy. Any thought that style improves with age had been eradicated in the couple of months that Rich had known this guy. 

“Dustin, man, what’s up?” Rich asked, suddenly feeling overdressed in his hoodie. He didn’t care too much about the answer, but the courtesy was required.

“Living the goddamn  _ dream,  _ kid. Everyone is dropping shifts to study for finals, so I’m picking up hours left and right. I’m rolling in it as much as I can be in this shitty economy.” Dustin talks as he flits around the bar, picking up bottles and glasses as he goes.

“Shouldn’t you be studying then, too?” Rich asked, his head swiveling to keep up with the other man. What Dustin was studying was a mystery, but no one would stay in that claustrophobically small town unless they went to school in some way.

“You better shut up, ‘cause you’re seriously starting to sound like my folks. Now, what’s up with you, kid?” He said as he slowed to a stop, grabbing a clean glass from a shelf underneath the bar. 

“...God, dude, that’s a loaded question.” Dustin sucked in a breath and moved the glass from where it was sitting under the beer tap to where the harder alcohols were stored. He flicked his hand at Rich, gesturing for him to continue as he mixed the sharp smelling liquids together. “Michael...Went out with someone else. Came back pissed, said we needed to talk, all that crap.” he started, grinding his teeth absentmindedly and in a weak attempt to keep a straight face. “We didn’t really talk, though. Just yelled. He-” Rich would’ve kept going if not for the glass slamming down next to his hand with force that made him fear it shattered. Dustin leaned back on the register with his arms crossed, nodding down at the awful shade of brown that resided in the container. His usual smile was pressed into a thin line and his eyebrows were furrowed together as Rich regarded the drink. He met Dustin’s gaze as he brought it up to his lips, the bartender’s expression remaining unchanged as he choked. The drink, which Rich could only suffer through a quarter of, had the bitter aftertaste of a normal drink with the teeth-jolting acidity of cough medicine. “Dust, this is awful,” Rich exclaimed, gagging. 

“Yeah? Well, it’s on the house and better than hearing my friend mope all night.” The bell perched over the door twanged behind Rich and Dustin stood back up to attention. “I’m gonna take care of these ladies and then I’ll be back, okay?” Rich nodded as the man slipped to the other end of the bar, the newcomer’s flirtatious giggles mingling with the door opening and closing a few more times. 

And so, he waited. 

He waited as the night began to settle and the door to the bar was propped open with a stool. He waited as Dustin realized why they needed a full staff instead of just him. He waited as someone cranked the volume up on their speaker and as people jostled around his silent bubble without really seeing him. Rich didn’t mean to just sit there, nursing his monstrosity of a drink for hours on end, but it just happened. It was spur of the moment, which he tried to avoid, but watching people chitter and drink and laugh and cry was strangely therapeutic. For once, he appreciated not having his plan. 

The world itself shrunk to fit inside of a tiny bar on the edge of a college town, filled with sweaty kids, booze, neon lights, and music. While it was a bit claustrophobic, it also tied everyone in that room together in a way that none of them would be able to describe by the time morning rolled around. 

Considering that the whole world was squeezed in there, Rich should have been able to see Michael across the room without the surprised lump in his throat coming back with full, painful force. He turned away as quickly as he could, returning his wandering gaze to the tiny pool that still resided in his glass. This inevitably led to the rediscovery of his reflection, staring back at him with pupils blown and expression frantic. He watched the other version of himself swirl and distort as the bar vibrated from the bass-heavy music someone was blasting. It shook even more when Dustin leaned across the bartop, his elbows resting in front of Rich while holding his chin with his hands. 

“Okay, don’t look now, but-” Dustin started, his effort to remain under the radar being cut off by a dismissive wave from Rich.

“Yeah, I saw him. What’s the situation?” Rich pondered, his back still to the other groups. 

“Uh, his hood’s up. He doesn’t have a drink, so he’s the source of all my financial strain, but whatever. He’s talking to a guy. He’s laughing. Now they’re done talking, actually. Michael is on the move. Oh, shit, man, here he comes,” Dustin blabbered, pressing a finger to his ear as if he was in a bad spy movie. “Alright, agent Richard, I’m bailing!” he exclaimed before shooting a pair of finger guns and slipping into a back room, conveniently out of sight but within earshot. Rich cursed under his breath and swallowed down the last few drops in his glass, squaring his shoulders in preparation for the awkward inevitable. 

“Rich?” a voice said from behind him, quietly enough that he could pretend he didn’t hear it if he wanted to. And most of his brain wanted him to. But his hands betrayed him, pushing off the bartop and spinning around until he was face to face with the owner of the familiar voice. 

Rich dragged the heel of his wrist across his mouth both to wipe the drink off of his face and to stop himself from gasping at how ... _ unfazed _ Michael looked. Other than the red hood still pulled up, his eyes were bright and his clothes were clean. His normally shaggy curls had been tamed, spilling into his eyes in a way that worked. He looked like he had gotten sleep, wherever he was sleeping now. 

And Rich  _ hated  _ it. 

He knew that he didn’t really wish harm on Michael, but to see him looking so normal and in better shape than he was rubbed him the wrong way. So the internal recoil he had when Michael pulled out the stool next to him and sat was rational, in his opinion. Rich kept his mouth shut, just giving him the half-nod that could be taken as a greeting.

“Ay, Dustin!” Rich ignored him as Michael called out to the bartender, who sheepishly slunk back out from his hiding spot.

“Mikey,” Dustin said, his eyes flicking from one patron to the other, getting the idea that he shouldn’t say anything about their averted gazes. “How’s your ma and mom, cus?” Michael chuckled, and Rich had to pretend that the noise didn’t make his heart twinge. 

“Ma’d blow a fuse if she found either one of us here, but otherwise fine. Mom’s still pissed about what you pulled over Christmas break, but she’ll find another cousin to yell at by the time I head home.” Rich felt his eyes widen as Dustin laughed, filling up another cup with beer from the tap. 

“You guys are cousins?” Rich piped up. The boys nodded, Michael suddenly very interested in something making an appearance on his phone. “You’re  _ kidding.” _

“The mischief makers of the Mell family tree, dude,” Dustin said as he set the beverage in front of Michael. Rich stared daggers at Dustin, trying to say a monologue with one expression. He knew he probably looked crazy, but he needed to say something between  _ “You let me talk shit about your cousin?”  _ and  _ “What if we ended up being related?” _ Dustin just brushed him off with an eye roll. Then, in the least nonchalant fashion Rich had ever seen, he waggled a finger between the two boys at the bar and exaggeratedly mouthed  _ “Talk to him!”  _ After which, of course, he seemed to disappear into thin air. 

Rich legitimately couldn’t think of anything he wanted to do less. Sure, there was a lot Michael could say, but Rich knew he wouldn’t have anything to respond with. Even if Rich let him talk, the freckled boy doubted he’d make it too far into a conversation before punching something. 

“He’s right, you know,” Michael said, pulling Rich out of his tightening spiral of thoughts. 

“What?” Rich asked, mentally cursing himself for responding after being so definitive against it. 

“Dustin. For once, he’s right. We should talk.”

_ That’s what you said last time, and we all saw how well that went,  _ Rich thought to himself as he ground his back teeth together. 

“I’d rather not, man,” the shorter replied, dropping to his feet and grabbing his cup even though he had nowhere to go. He would’ve kept walking until he had found a window to escape out of, but Michael grabbed his arm with a vice-like grip.

“Yeah, me too, but we still  _ should,”  _ Michael released his arm, shoving his hands deep into the pockets of his hoodie in a desperate attempt to prepare himself. For what, he didn’t really know, but he knew as well as Rich did that it wouldn’t be comfortable. He nodded at the now-empty stool. 

Rich opted to stay standing. “What do you want to talk about, then?” He cocked his head to the side, hoping the boy facing him could taste the venom dripping from his voice. 

“I don’t know…” Michael exhaled, averting his gaze again. “How are you?”

“Yeah, I’m going to head out now.” 

“Wait!” the glasses-clad one exclaimed, re-thinking his words. “I’ll try again. Hey, Rich,” he said, though the beginning of this speech didn’t sound too promising either. “I’m sorry how things had to go down the other night. I should have calmed down before talking to you.” Rich nodded, urging him to continue, but his eyebrows never unfurled and his stony disposition didn’t waver. “So.. yeah. It sucks the way that it happened, but I still think it was the best thing for us.”

“Really?” Rich asked, the word taking ages to finally pass his lips. “You really think it was the best thing for  _ us?  _ ‘Cause it really just seems like you kicked me out ‘cause it was more convenient for you to start over without me.” He knew it wasn’t super fair to start another argument right after Michael had apologized for the last one, but he had a rant building up inside his chest for days now. Michael seemed to think along the same wavelength, pursing his lips in annoyance but allowing Rich to deliver blow after blow. He would have kept going, too, if it had not been for the single question that had been so prominent throughout the time they spent apart. “Why?” he asked, crossing his arms over his hoodie-clad torso. 

“Why what?” Michael asked back, his voice meek after confrontation. Rich rolled his eyes with an exhale, not dignifying with a response. “I already told you, man. There’s someone else.” 

“Yeah, but  _ why,  _ Mell? Why were you so ready to give up what I thought we had for some guy you got gas station food with? What was wrong with  _ us _ ?” he drew another breath, hoping the other boy didn’t notice his shoulders shuddering beneath the fabric of his jacket. “What was wrong with  _ me _ ?”

Michael gaped, wishing he had his cousins’ miraculous ability to disappear. Either that, or go back in time, or have the right words for any situation. All in all, he wished he had a way to know what to say. But he didn’t, and he knew that he could only try to fix things in his signature, sloppy way. “Dude…”

“Don’t pull that shit, Michael. You already said it’s over, so there’s no need to try and fix anything now,” Rich sniffed, wiping his dripping nose with his sleeve. Michael looked away from the scene, a knot of pity forming in the back of his brain where Rich used to occupy his thoughts.

“Yeah, it’s over, but I’m not just gonna leave you here  _ crying _ !” Michael pointed out. Rich nearly spat a retort of how that same thing had happened mere days ago, but a hiccup blocked his voice.

“I’m not crying,” he defied, ignoring the heat behind his eyes and the hiccups splattering his sentence. The more composed one just nodded, not willing to sacrifice himself in order to point out the obvious.

“Nothing is wrong with you, Rich,” Michael tossed out as he slid his glasses off his nose and cleaned them absentmindedly. Another nervous habit that neither of them was going to bring to light. 

“Bullshit.”

“Probably sounds like it, but I’m being real here!” Michael said, flinging his glasses around as he gestured. “I had feelings for other people and I realized that It wouldn’t be fair to anyone if I just kept suppressing them. I felt like...If I kept being with you and liking other people, would end up doing things that would hurt you in an effort to have both. And that’s the thing, man. I couldn’t have both.” Michael spouted this in one breath, the words feeling rehearsed as they rolled over his tongue, but he knew he was being as honest as he could. 

No matter how many times he practiced could prepare him for Rich’s brown eyes scrutinizing him as he spoke. No matter how confident he felt when making up arguments in the shower could help right then. Then, that devastatingly difficult minute stretched on as Rich remained silent, save a few sniffles. 

“I poured my heart out to you... you know?” Rich said after a few more songs had been played and the seats around them emptied out in favor of the dance floor. He turned his attention to this corner of the room as Michael digested his words, gazing somewhat longingly at the couples laughing and mingling. “I put everything I was on you. You became part of my plan, Michael. I can’t say that about anyone else,” a smile played across the face of the one reminiscing, both from memories and of everyone looking so happy a mere few feet away. “But you taught me that the plan doesn’t...always work. And I can’t say that about anyone else, either. So…” Rich paused as the beat of the song dropped and the aftershock of dancing began. “So thank you, Michael. For teaching me shit. Thanks for making it a good lesson,” Rich said as he began to sway to the underlying drum beat. Michael tapped his foot to the rhythm, both knowing the song and giving himself time to think over his response. 

“Thanks, Rich. Thanks for being there for me. And thanks for being you, man, cause there’s nothing wrong with you.” He plastered on his soft smile as he finished. Rich did the same, the bittersweet expression being the last thing they did together.

A moment after Michael departed to meet a handsome boy meandering by the edge of the dance floor, Dustin reappeared with a tissue box tucked under his arm and a dish towel tossed over his shoulder. “Hey there, crazy Rich white guy,” he said, not meeting the eyes of the one mentioned.

“How much did you hear?” 

“...Let’s both pretend that I just got here,” Dustin quipped and set down the box. “Okay? Cool. How did it go?”

“It wasn’t bad enough for those,” Rich said, leaning his elbows on the bartop and nodding at the tissues. Dustin glanced at the red rimming his eyes and the tracks tears must’ve carved into his cheeks.

“Right,” he nodded, chewing his lip and nudging the box closer to the boy with red-streaked hair anyways. “So give me a summary. A synopsis. A five thousand word essay, due next Tuesday at 3 pm. Whatever those fancy professors make you do.” Rich sighed and pulled out his phone, checking his calendar app.

“Ah,” he said, pointing to the date in mention with no plans listed on it. “Sorry, I already have an appointment to defend my dissertation with Professor Dustin Kropp.” 

“Don’t bring that academic BS to my dorm. You only go there for weed, Mario Kart and talking about our extremely masculine feelings over shitty alcohol, alright?” Dustin counted the limited possibilities on his fingers. Rich grinned, the first genuine one in a while.

“Thanks, Dusty. I appreciate it.” Dustin smiled back, reaching across the island to ruffle the other boys’ hair. 

“Anytime. You call me and we’ll talk things out. As for right now,” he grabbed Rich’s long empty glass, tossing it between his hands in a terrifyingly loose grip, “Want another one?”

The freckled one groaned and rubbed the back of his neck in mock exasperation. “Is this one on the house, too?”

“Oh, of course. We can’t be selling my secret recipe. We’d make too much money and then I’d be able to buy a house and move out of this dump. You’d never see me again, and we can’t have that!” Rich listened solemnly, tapping his finger against his chin as if he was in deep thought.

“Yeah, then I guess I have to take a free one. Thanks.”

“Man, you gotta stop thanking people. First that thank-you-circle thing with Michael, then me...”

“We weren’t gonna bring that up, remember?”

“Yeah, right. Drink up, kiddo.” 

They spent the rest of the night like that, sharing laughs and stories over glasses of Dustin’s special. It didn’t get any easier to drink, but it became much easier to talk about anything and everything as the sun began to rise again and the teens filtered back out of the bar. It was just what Rich needed, as unplanned as it was. And the next day, as Rich walked into the class that he promised he would attend, he flipped open his notebook to the page where he scrawled out his plan in the first place. In neat, steady handwriting underneath the aged scribbles of his younger self, he wrote out last one bullet point:

_**Ignore the plan every once in a while. Be more spontaneous. Be more chill.** _

**Author's Note:**

> HEY!! I’m so glad hat you made it to the bottom! Now real quick go check out the comic at this url: https://www.tumblr.com/dashboard/blog/jeanteros/186184001309  
> And the other fic by @lacystar right here:  
> https://archiveofourown.org/collections/bmcreversebang2019/works/19758541  
> Both are absolutely incredible and I’m so glad I got to work with them!!


End file.
